The Clock Strikes Sadness

The clock at the station strikes me sad stuck at midnight or noon. Its hands won’t tell which twelve. But that’s not what strikes me sad, not even the way you got off the train, met me a block away and seemed like you wanted to leave the first second you set eyes on me. You stood tall and dark and fidgety. I couldn’t change your mind to make you stay. And years later we are married and you barely remember that autumn eve. But not even that strikes me sad. It’s the clock that stops when someone leaves. April 8, 2017 for Open Poetry Contest 2